This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and
adult language which some may find offensive and which is not
appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale
to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made
your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be
accessed by under-aged readers.

The three-day migraine Bilana had been fighting had finally enlisted the
help of the intense South Dakota sun in its efforts to make her bawl
like a baby and drop her level of usefulness to that of a used condom.
Awake was better than dead, Bilana thought, but after the day she'd had she might just have to disagree with that sentiment.
Her headache had retreated into a little minor soreness, and the
alligators in her stomach had finally stopped trying to chew her new
ulcers. And it was all because of her new drugs. Treximat was wonderful
at getting rid of the aches and pains, but it also had a habit of
knocking her on her ass faster than three shots of moonshine on an empty
stomach.
She ran her hands over her face and tried as hard as she could to
remember where she actually was. She remembered having to spend some
time in a medical tent...
Yes, she was in South Dakota, and there were tents, and she was... Yes,
she was covering the Sioux Nation pow-wow, the annual Sisseton-Wahpeton
Wacipi in Agency Village.
She had taken her pain pills and sucked down a whole lot of water
helpfully given to her by the team of medics in the first aid tent, and
then took their advice and found someplace quiet to rest.
Since she could not drive as doped up as she was, and there were more
pressing cases of heat exhaustion to deal with, not to mention a few
possible heart attacks, she found herself a nice, empty tent and made
herself at home on top of some discarded blankets. That her little
pallet on the grass was shielded by a few unused tables and chairs was
all the better. She was too ill and dizzy to even make it to her car to
stash her cameras.
Thinking about the extremely expensive Canon EOS Mark Three reminded her
to reach down and check to see if the masterpiece of plastic and
circuitry was still around her neck.
When she had found her hiding spot, she was in too much pain to see
anything, so she'd wrapped both hands around her camera baby and cradled
it as she gave in to the call of her pain meds.
Now, she was relieved to find her main claim to her paycheck was still
functioning. She turned it on, and the lens extended perfectly as it
hummed to life. She spent a moment staring at her precious camera before
other sounds caught her attention. She peeked over the mound of tables
and collapsed chairs and saw something that made her catch her breath.
Her client had requested several photos of native garb, and she was now
facing the most beautiful examples of regalia, and warriors, she had
ever seen. It was almost instinctive for her to lift her camera and line
up the shot, breathless at the sheer perfection of the men she was
looking at.
There were two of them, one a little younger than the other, and they
were facing each other across a circle. Both had high cheekbones and the
hooked nose that spoke of their Native ancestry even more than the
regalia they wore.
But the regalia was almost otherworldly.
Both men wore straight-cut shirts of creamy white leather. Both shirts
were longer than what she was used to seeing, coming down to almost
mid-thigh. Up and around both arms and trailing down the chest on each
side was a thick strip of black beadwork patterned into broad triangles
interspersed with scarlet beads. Running along the side of each beadwork
stripe were strips of alternating black and white fur.
There was a difference between the two, however. The younger man's fur
strips were not as long or luxuriant as the ones on the shirt worn by
the older one. Around each of their necks was a necklace of black beads
that glistened in the candlelight that brightened up the tent.
She held her breath as she beheld the same creamy leather that made up
their breechcloths. The inverted arrow-shaped swath of cloth came down
to their knees and was edged in the same luxuriant fur that outlined the
beadwork on the shirt. The strips of black fur touched the ankles of
their well-muscled bare legs.
On their feet were ankle-length moccasins of black leather edged in
white fur. The fur of the younger warrior was shorter and fluffier,
while the fur edging around the ankles of the elder was long and silky,
falling to the ground as they began to move faster, spinning and
stomping their feet to an beat that only the two of them could hear...http://changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1676